


Been Biting My Tongue All Week

by DetectiveJoan



Series: Asexual Atypicals [3]
Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: 5 Things, Asexuality, Chronic Illness, Established Relationship, F/M, unreciprocated sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 08:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveJoan/pseuds/DetectiveJoan
Summary: Five times Mark and Sam have sex (with varying degrees of success*)





	Been Biting My Tongue All Week

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Rilo Kiley's "Portions for Foxes"
> 
> _There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week._  
>  _I keep on talking trash, but I never say anything._  
>  _And the talking leads to touching,_  
>  _And the touching leads to sex,_  
>  _And then there is no mystery left._

1.

They’re on her bed, the first time. Mark’s sitting back against the headboard and Sam’s straddling his knees. They’re kissing -- they’ve been kissing all night, because Sam loves the feeling of it, the thrill that runs down her spine every time she feels his tongue in her mouth and, yeah, she always thought that sounded kind of gross but it’s actually really good and her stomach’s been doing backflips for like an hour now. And when he’d slid his hands under her shirt earlier, she’d barely hesitated before stripping it off.

They’d left it somewhere on the floor in the living room. Or maybe the hallway? Who knows.

Sam hasn’t let anyone see her in her bra since high school gym classes and she should probably be feeling more shy about her body. But Mark’s hands are so big and warm against her skin, and when she pulls at the hem of his shirt he lets her tug it off over his head.

She rests her hand over his dick through his jeans and he breaks off the kiss to look up at her.

“Hey, Sam, you know we don’t have to do anything more than this tonight. I mean, I know you said you’ve never -- never had a boyfriend before, and if you want to wait a bit longer, that’s fine. This -- all of this, everything we’ve already done is fine.”

“I know,” she says. Her lips are chapped and dry and she’s sure her hair is a mess for all Mark keeps brushing it away from her face, but there’s still a heat in her lower stomach and Sam realizes -- she feels sexy like this, with Mark between her legs and his face level with her breasts. He’s looking at her with unabashed adoration. “But I -- I want to.”

Her voice is soft, because of course it is. It always is. She could strangle herself right now for not sounding more sure of herself. Biting her bottom lip, she presses down where her hand is still over his crotch. She can feel the length of him against her palm. Not that she’s ever been this close to a dick before, but she’s pretty sure he’s pretty hard. “If you still want to,” she adds.

She brings her other hand to his belt, then flicks her gaze up to meet his eye.

Mark just nods once, kind of sharply, and that’s all the encouragement or permission she needs.

She’s never taken off a belt at this angle -- hell, she hardly ever wears belts herself -- but it comes open easily enough, and then the button and fly do the same. Mark has his hands on either side of her neck, pulling her back into another deep kiss as she reaches into his pants and wraps her hands around his cock.

It’s a weird sensation. It’s hard to say exactly what she was expecting, because she’d never really thought about having sex with anyone before Mark entered the picture.

She’s unsure, but not hesitant. After a minute of curiosity and fumbling, Mark wraps one of his hands around hers, wordlessly showing her what to do. It’s all new and it doesn’t stop being weird, but it gets….comfortable. The weight of him in her hand, and the strength of his grip around hers. She pulls progressively sloppier kisses from his lips, until he’s leaning so far forward into her space that she could topple over if he weren’t still tethering her with a hand at the nape of her neck.

He’s coming in a matter of minutes, panting heavily, mouth in the vicinity of Sam’s.

“Sorry,” he says after he’s had a chance to catch his breath. “Guess my stamina isn’t what it used to be.”

Usually when he remarks on his still-recovering body -- two-plus years in a coma sure did a number on every part of it -- his tone is flecked with self-deprecation and bitterness. That’s not the tone his words have now. It sounds more like an inside joke; there’s a downplayed sense of joy just under the surface for her ears only. He’s grinning.

“Give me a sec and I can get you,” he says.

Sam plucks a handful of tissues off the box on her bedside table and starts wiping the slick off her hand. She’s definitely wet and has been for a while, but it feels more like a minor detail that doesn’t require attention.

“I’m alright,” she replies, cleaning him off as well. “Let’s just go to bed.”

“Am I really that much of a turn off?” Mark asks, and it’s a quiet joke again. Sam kisses the smile off his lips.

“No, but you look about ready to pass out.”

Mark skims his hands up her sides, letting them come to rest at the small of her waist. “Not that I’m keeping score,” he says, “but it’s not exactly fair that I got an orgasm and you didn’t. I’d really rather not be that guy.

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the center of her chest, breath warm against her skin. Sam suppresses a shiver.

“I also think you’re hot as fuck and would really love to see you,” he says, voice low.

“You can get me next time.” She stands up to toss the tissues in the garbage.

 

2.

A week later, Sam wakes up with her face buried in Mark’s chest and his erection pressing against her hip.

She rubs him off through his boxers as he moans in her ear and fists one hand in her hair.

They exchange lazy kisses, after.

“You turn,” he says, and it’s not a questions but Sam makes a noise in the negative.

“I’ve got plans with Chloe,” she says. She’s aiming for reluctant, but maybe doesn’t get the tone quite right. Mark just sighs, looking disappointed.

“Next time,” he says like a promise as she rolls out of bed.

“Next time,” she confirms.

 

3.

Except next time, she gets down on her knees before he can manage more than a single word of protest, and as soon as she wraps her lips around his cock he seems to lose all ability for speech.

It all feels just as weird as that first time. Maybe Sam had expected prolonged and repeated contact with a penis to make the whole thing feel more natural, but by the time she’s swallowing down his come, she’s pretty much decided that this whole sex thing is never going to stop feeling just this side of bizarre.

Mark goes weak at the knees and slides to the floor in front of her -- standing for that long, even with his back against the wall is a lot of physical exertion for him. He pulls Sam into his lap and starts pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck. He’s got one hand tangled in her long hair, the other wrapped under her ass to pull her close.

The alarm on his phone goes off before they can do anything more.

“Shit,” he breathes quietly against her neck.

“Six o’clock?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, Joanie’s gonna be home any minute.” He shuts off the alarm and then leans back so there’s enough room between them that he can look Sam in the eye. “I’m really fucking disappointed that I still haven’t gotten you off.”

Sam’s face flames at the words, and she can’t come up with an adequate response.

“I know we can’t here,” he continues, “not with Joanie coming home. Do you wanna go to your place…?”

“I would, but we promised Joan we’d be here for dinner,” Sam reminds him.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” Mark draws the single-syllable swear into a long moan. “Think we could reschedule? Bet she’d be really understanding if we just explained the situation.

Sam makes a sound between a laugh and a scoff. “Mark! Gross! There is no way we’re discussing our sex life with your sister.”

“Okay, fine,” Mark replies, allowing Sam to help him stand back up. “But seriously, we’re 3-0 now. It’s definitely your turn next time.”

“I thought you weren’t keeping score.”

 

4.

They go for walks twice a week. It’s one part cheap date and one part physical therapy, and it involves kissing on a park bench roughly 30% of the time.

Sam loves everything about it; it feels so reminiscent of the way they had first gotten to know each other back in England, except now they can hold hands while casually chatting about anything and everything. She’s probably never going to get over the novelty of physical contact with Mark. Their relationship had been so deprived of it for so long that she can’t ever bring herself to remove her hand from his.

Not that Mark is _handsy_  by any definition of the word, but she can tell he savors her touch too. He has a habit of grabbing her hand whenever he can. When he can’t, he wraps his arm over her shoulder or around her waist. If they’re sitting, he’ll spread his legs enough to press his knee against hers. It’s subtle, but consistent and strangely comforting.

“I want to take you on a real date,” Mark says one day when they’re ambling down a completely deserted suburban street.

“You don’t have money to take me on a real date,” Sam objects, but he brushes her off.

“So technically Joanie would be paying, but it’s not like she spends any of her money taking herself out on real dates. We might as well take advantage of her wealth and her support of our relationship.”

Sam’s pretty sure most of Joan’s support is simple gratitude that there’s someone else around to look after Mark, but she doesn’t mention it. Mark’s relationship with his sister is still a tetchy subject.

“So, what d’ya say?” he presses. “Dinner and a show this Friday? We can get dressed up real fancy.” Mark looks at her out of the corner of his eye, grinning a little dopily. “I bet you look really hot in a dress.”

She steps a little crookedly and bumps their shoulders together. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were planning to seduce me.”

Mark laughs with his whole body. Sam feels her heart swell watching him; when Mark gets gleeful like this, there’s a quality to him that seems compelled to share his joy with the rest of the world. More than anything, she wants to be the person he shares that delight with all the time. Something in her chest loosens just seeing him grin.

“You know, you might be onto something there, Sam. That was indeed one of my plans for the evening,” he says, squeezing her fingers. She doesn’t pull away, but her step hesitates. “Unless you don’t want to,” he adds instantly.

Sam takes a deep breath. She can’t look at him, but they fall back into step. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” she starts.

When she doesn’t continue, he takes a guess. “But...you’re nervous because you don’t have much experience?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably it.” Sam’s heart is racing; it feels more like regular nerves than a panic attack, but she still pauses to breathe slowly before finishing her thought. “I mean, I don’t want you to think that I’m unenthusiastic or something, because I really like you and I have liked all the stuff - all the sex that we’ve had.”

“But,” Mark prompts again.

Sam shrugs. “I’m more enthusiastic about making you feel good than the other way around,” she admits, still not looking at him. The words sound rehearsed, which, okay yeah she sort of _has_ rehearsed this conversation in her mind about a billion times and she couldn’t find a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound like -- fuck, like she doesn’t like him? Like she doesn’t want him?

That’s so far from the truth, though. She wants him all the time, in every way he’ll let himself be had. She just...doesn’t particularly need him to want her back the same way.

“Oh,” Mark says. She chances a peek at his face; he’s obviously processing the idea. “Okay. That’s…”

“Crazy?” Sam says, voice small.

“Not what I was expecting,” he admits, “but it’s fine. You know we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know, but I’m not -- I don’t know for sure if I want to do it for not, because I never _have_ done it. I just don’t want you to try and make some big production of it on Friday in case it turns out...poorly.”

She sort of wants to hid her face in her hands, but Mark’s grip is as tight as ever.

“Okay,” he says again, slowly. “We can work with that. So you, uh, you still want to try getting off with me? I promise I won’t be offended if you don’t like it, or you don’t finish, or whatever.”

Sam takes a moment before responding, more to steel her nerves than to consider his offer; she’s already spent days tossing this question around. She’s made up her mind. “Yeah, I think it’s worth trying. But if you could maybe not have any expectations of me, that would be awesome.”

Mark laughs again, and it’s quieter this time but his smile is just as infectious as ever. “I can do that,” he assures her. “And we don’t have to -- what did you say? Make a production out of it? No fancy dates required. We can do it whenever you want.”

Her whole body feels flooded with relief over how accepting he is. It’s the best reaction she could have hoped for, and it’s frankly much better than a lot of the possible reactions she had imagined him having to her admission.

She suddenly finds it much easier to breath.

///

Sam enjoys orgasms as much as the next person. Not doing so would probably push her a few rungs further on the crazy ladder than she already is. She’s never tried sex with another person before, though, and a lot of it _seems_  like an awful, messy idea. But she’s trying to be open to new experiences, so one warm afternoon she lets Mark peel her out of her shirt and bra, and press her flat on her back in the middle of her bed. She lets him caress her breasts and brush his lips across her stomach -- which she _isn’t_ sucking in, because she totally _can_ relax like he told her, she just has to think about sex and not about every acute physical flaw she has or how uncomfortably warm it is -- did she remember to turn on the air conditioner this morning? -- or how she’s starting to breathe way too fast, and not in an excited way, more like an oh-god-she-doesn’t-want-to-be-here way.

When Mark undoes the button on her shorts, she flickers.

“Shit,” she exhales, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes and trying desperately to ground herself.

Mark’s touch is gone instantly. She can still feel his weight on the foot of the bed, but he’s otherwise keeping his distance.

She flickers twice more before she manages to slow her breathing and tether herself more firmly to the present.

“Sorry,” she offers, voice tiny, as soon as she’s stable. She can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Mark replies. His soothing voice is annoyingly similar to Joan’s, like he’s about to guide Sam through a meditation exercise. What he does instead is hand her back her shirt, and offer, “If you’re uncomfortable, we can do something else.”

“Like what?” When she finally looks at him, he’s wearing a slightly mischievous grin.

“Scrabble?” he suggests.

 

5.

They try again a week later. Mark’s on the couch and Sam is in his lap, his arms wrapped around her from behind. With the lights off and the credits of some movie rolling in the background, it’s easier for Sam to focus on keeping herself grounded as Mark kisses the nape of her neck and runs his hands over her chest.

He drops one hand down to her thigh. His fingers wander for a bit, then trace the seam of her jeans up, up, up until he’s pressing directly against her. Sam hears herself making some kind of high-pitched moaning sound that she feels utterly detached from. He presses again, then again, and she lets herself lean into it, tries to really feel the growing heat in her stomach. She quickly becomes so wet that getting undressed starts to seem like a good idea.

Mark, however, bypasses that entire stage. He trails his hand up to her stomach, then dips his finger into her waistband.

Sam freezes up instantly. Mark must feel it because he stops moving too. He doesn’t remove his hands this time, just holds eerily still as Sam wills herself to relax.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, voice quiet against her neck.

She doesn’t want to be a quitter -- and there are some other words floating around her head, like _tease_ and _prude_ , that she knows Mark would never voice -- but she realizes abruptly that more than anything she does _not_ want to be touched.

She nods shakily.

Mark lets go and she pulls herself to her feet.

“What do you want to do?” he asks. His tone is very carefully neutral.

“I, um, I think I’m gonna go take a shower,” she says. “Do you want -- I mean, you can come with me, or, uh, or --”

“I’d love to join you,” Mark replies before she can figure out where that sentence was going to end. “If you’re sure.”

She is.

For some reason, it’s a lot easier to shimmy out of her pants in front of Mark when she’s just about to step under the stream of the hot water. It’s the first time they’ve both been completely undressed in front of each other, but it doesn’t feel like a big deal.

Mark steps into the shower behind her, then reaches over her shoulder to grab the body wash. Sam gathers her hair over her shoulder as he lathers up her back and works his way downward. When he reaches her hips, he gently turns her to face him and takes particular care in washing all the slick from between her legs.

She closes her eyes and leans back to let the water hit her face. This is nice. Everything is soft and warm and she’d be perfectly happy to stay here forever.

Of course, the hot water runs out eventually. They dry off, and pull on pajamas, and Mark gently prods her into bed then climbs under the covers behind her.

“Everyone likes different parts of sex,” he says with no prompting or catalyst, shifting until his chest is pressed closely against her back. He casually drapes his arm over her waist. “So you don’t like being touched. That’s fine.”

“You’re sure I’m not just crazy?” Sam asks.

“I’m sure.”

The certainty in his voice gives her the courage she needs to shrug and say, “I really liked the shower more than the sex.”

To her surprise, Mark chuckles. She rolls over to face him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says when he sees the question on her face, “I’d definitely love to fuck you. But showering is a lot less effort. You’re officially the most low-maintenance partner I’ve ever had.”

“Ditto,” Sam says, leaning her head against his chest so she can feel his laugh.

In that moment, they’re exactly enough.


End file.
